Knight in Shining Armor

***

"What’re you doing?" Merry asked as he finished the incline up the hilltop and saw his friend, Estella Bolger, sitting there, dark hair pinned up, the occasional curl dropping down to frame her face, skirts spread out as she kneeled in the green, tall grass.

"What’re you doing sneaking up behind me?" she asked in return to the familiar voice, her back still turned toward him.

"Ah, but it doesn’t count as sneaking. I said something as I walked up, didn’t I?" And he sat down next to her, stretching his feet out and lying back into the cool, sweet grass. He sighed heavily, eyes closed, and placed his hands behind his head, a small smile on his lips.

She looked down to him, eyebrow arched, "And who’s to say that I desire company?"

"I’m not Company. I’m Merry," he answered, not opening his eyes.

"Of course," Estella agreed, her lips forming a smile as she rolled her eyes.

"So, what’re you doing?"

"I’m checking," she said, and when she didn’t continue, as she suspected, Merry opened one eye to look up at her, curious.

"Checking what?"

"My fortune," she answered, and it was his turn to roll his eyes. "What, you don’t believe in it?"

"Gypsies, soothe sayers, star-readers – crackpots the lot of ‘em." He glanced up at her with taunting reason, "Simply out to earn some easy coin from the terribly gullible, I say."

"O, now," she said, frowning prettily to hide the smile on her lips, "I don’t think that’s very fair."

Opening his clear blues eyes which matched the sky that hung above them, he sat up and put his hands on his knees, looking out to the plain-like pastures that stretched into the distance, and the golden fields and the beds of flowers being tended by hobbits, and the little laughing children running across the brown ribbons of road that ran through the countryside.

"You really love it here, don’t you?" Estella asked quietly, like a person who only just had come to recognize something that had been plain to see all of their life.

He turned to find her large brown eyes intent upon him, and he was a little surprised at the sincerity they held. "Of course I do," he said, and turned his head out to the land that stretched before him. "This is my home."

He heard her sigh gently, and it was light and lovely, a soft breath fluttered from her chest. The gentle breeze sifted lightly through his clothes, it was warm and clean and the bright rays of light frolicked upon the hilltops and in his heart. "I love it here, too," she said, spying the Brandywine glisten under the sunlight, which danced off its swift waters in the distance. "I’d like to live here one day."

They passed the next moments in companionable silence as they stared out, just simply content with the beauty set before them. Then Estella spoke, "It...it," she paused while trying to figure out exactly what she meant before saying it, ‘It smells different here," she declared after a moment, apparently in thought. Merry glanced over to her, eyebrow arched, amused. "Yes, yes that’s it," she concluded, "It smells like..." she stopped her speech so suddenly Merry’s amusement turned to confusion, but she only did so because the thought struck her so very soundly, and it was so very right. "Like: adventure," she said and she was smiling a bit, her voice dreamy.

Merry frowned, but not in disapproval. Both brows climbed his forehead and his expression was a little skeptical as he looked to her. "Adventure?"

"Yes!" Estella answered, clapping her hands together once. "O, can’t you see it, Merry?" Her voice was passionate as she made a small gesture into the distance, her eyes getting lost, seeing the fancies her imagination supplied her.

Merry looked out, and tried his hardest, frowning in perusal, but then shrugged, "All I see is the Old Forest," he admitted.

"Yes!" she answered delightedly, and Merry smiled, and rolled his eyes a bit. He looked over to her and saw her smiling, gazing out to something that he could not see, a whirlpool of whims swirling in her large brown eyes, eyelashes fluttering prettily. And he swore if hadn’t known better, and ignored her more mature curves, he could have confused her small frame and unabashed delight with that of a child.

"The Old Forest is just the beginning," she said, "Then after it is far off places, perilous creatures, daring sword fights –"

"Estella!" Merry interrupted, a small chuckle releasing from within him in amused exasperation.

She sighed again, putting a few stray curls behind her delicately pointed ears. "It is out there," she affirmed quietly, as if she spoke to herself.

Merry looked at her, a fond smile playing on his lips, and said, "I think you read too many faerie stories, Stel."

"I think you read too few," she retorted, maybe a tad to fervently. She realized this, and was instantly apologetic. So many people scoffed at her reveries, but no, not Merry, he never disapproved. He never approved either, but she thought that he liked to hear her weave tales of magic beings and spooky forests while she spoke to the little children at holiday gatherings, or listen to her when a strange thought struck her while sipping tea, and sometimes, to her innermost delight, she could even get him to chime in with something of his own. She knew Merry, and smiled sidelong at him while he gazed out over Buckland, he just needed a little cajoling sometimes.

But she looked to him apologetically, for she did not mean to sound so harsh before, "I mean, you always have that snub nose of yours stuck in one of those colossal herb-lore tomes! I haven’t a clue how they can interest you so much," she said to assert her lightness.

He looked to her, "There’s hardly any on herb-lore! I mean, a little bit here and there... but those books are just mostly filled with old harvest stats and whatnot," he explained, making a gesture with his hands that suggested it was nothing special. And looking to her, said, "And it is interesting, if I may inform you."

"Well, why don’t you write a book about it?"

"Me?" Merry said, his brows knitting in amusement, "Write a book?"

"Yes, why not? I think you’d do a fine job," Estella said. "Well," she said, shrugging, "If you can get Pippin to leave you alone long enough to write it," and Merry let out a bark of laughter.

"Now that’s precisely the problem, Stella, precisely," he chuckled. Some moments of silence passed between them, but then Merry spoke, and the laughter was gone from his voice, and now it was low and wistful, "Maybe I don’t read enough of them, though," he began, plucking the grass in between his legs, and then looked up at her, "Faerie tales, that is," then looked back down and continued pulling then discarding the green strands of flora. Estella tried, but could find no purpose behind his words, and gave up, though a look of inquiry was still set on her features.

"Well, if you don’t think you could write a book, perhaps you could be in one," she suggested to pull him from this somber mood he seemed to have got in. She smiled, waiting for him to look up. He did, and she could have laughed heartily at the look on his face! "What’s that face for?"

"Why would anyone ever put me in a book? Well... other than that I am going to be Master and they must at least scribble my name down someplace, so that they can attribute a name to all the faults that befall Buckland during the time," he said, and smiled.

"I don’t know, maybe you’ll do something marvelous," she looked at him thoughtfully a moment, "I think you’d make a fine dragon-slayer, or o! A knight, perhaps?" she added, smiling seductively, "You’d look quite dashing," she said, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"If you haven’t noticed Estella, I am already quite dashing," Merry said, and placed a stray curl that had fallen into her face behind her ear. He stretched out so that one leg was straight, the other bent, and he placed his arm onto it, the other arm supporting the rest of his weight as he leaned back.

"Well, you’ll always be my knight Merry Brandybuck," and Merry was a bit surprised at this statement, and looked to her, "Don’t look at me that way. You know I adore you, you’re one of my closest friends!" Ah, so that’s what she meant. "No matter how many dashing heroes I stumble across in real life, or in my faerie tales, you’ll always be my knight in shining armor, whether you become a lumpy, old, nothing-to-do hobbit, or not." She giggled, but then again was sweetly serious, "No matter what you end up doing," and smiled.

"Is that a promise?" Merry said, looking to her, and in his eyes was a wistfulness that she did not realize.

"It’s a promise."